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OUT OF THE SILENCE. 



1909: 

The Monarch Printing Co. 

council bluffs, iowa. 



OUT OF THE SILENCE 

A BOOK OF VERSE. 



BY 

J. SCHUYLER LONG 



Enamoured architect of airy ryhme 

Build as thou wilt; heed not ivhat each man says. 
* * * 

^ * let art he all in all. 

Build as thou wilt and as thy light is given: 

Then, if at last, thy airy structure fall- 
Dissolve and vanish — take thyself no shame; 
They fail, and they alone, who have not striven. 



1909 

Council Bluffs, Iowa 

BY THE AUTHOR. 



JBHARY of GONGHESS 
Tv/o CoDies Receh/ed 

FEB 5 1909 

Copynfe,iil tntry 
LASS pj XXc, No. 



COPYRIGHT, 1909, 
By 

J. Schuyler Long. 



Page 

I Wish That I Could Tell 11 

The Poetry of Motion 13 

The Family Man as a Poet 15 

Work 17 

Where the Waters Run 18 

Do You Mind? 20 

A Wish 22 

A Song of Thanksgiving 23 

In Autumn 24 

The Valley Despair 25 

The Morgue 26 

The Windmill 29 

At Cupid's Altar 31 

Flora 33 

Freedom and Slavery 34 

Say It 35 

A Thanksgiving Song 36 

Compensation 38 

Down the Old Potomac Shores 40 

Then I'll Be Content 42 

In May 43 

A Song of Gratitude 45 

To a Robin 47 

Heart Language 48 

What's the Good? 49 

The Modern Peacemaker 50 



viii THE VERSE IN THIS BOOK 

Page 

The Silver Lining 51 

Fickle Fortune 52 

The Meteor 53 

On Gallaudet's Birthday 54 

A Comparison 57 

A Coasting Song 59 

The Spirit of the Wild 61 

To Dorothy 63 

Camping Out 64 

William J. B 67 

What Shall the Harvest Be? 69 

Lines Accompanying a Picture 71 

My Kingdom 72 

At Dear Old Gallaudet 74 

Demodocus 77 

When the Train Goes By 79 

Mother's Cooking 80 

Be Sunny . . . 82 

My Point of View 84 

Vacation Time Dreams 85 

A Thanksgiving Hymn 87 

Before Thanksgiving 89 

Love's Crown 90 

As You Make It 92 

Then and Now 94 

For Eternity's Sleep ^ 96 

The Human Hand 97 

Contraries 98 

The Master Poet 100 

Why Repine? 101 

The Modern Standard 102 

Up and Down the Streets 103 

A Toast 105 



THE VERSE IN THIS BOOK ix 

Page 

The Buff and the Blue 107 

The Worker's Recompense 108 

My Recompense 110 

The Gift That Is Ours 112 

To the ras-a-Pas Club 11:', 

RHYMES FROM THE SCHOOL ROOM. 

School Time 117 

Still More Beyond 119 

Does It Pay? 121 

Dedication Ode 123 

Which Valentine? 125 

Not For Self But Others 127 

The School Girl's Complaint 129 

The Path of Duty 131 

School Room Problems 132 

Aim High 134 

Anaxagoras 136 



®n M^ Mifr 



WTien first I met ivith you, Love, 

Changed were then the skies ; 
A brighter hue because of you 

About them seemed to rise; 
And all the light that made them bright 

Came from your love-lit eyes. 

And since 1 ^ve wed with you, Love, 

Changed is everything; 
The world is new because of you, 

And all the year is spring. 
Your love has brought the changes wrought 

And made my heart to sing. 

J. S. L. 



Out of the silence they come to me,— 
The songs that I sometim^es sirig. 

And to my spirit shut out from all sound 
The solace of music they bring. 

Out of the silence in echoes they come 
Like sounds in a faraway dream,, 

Bearing my thoughts as it were on the tide 
Like roses are borne on the stream; 

Bearing them far in melodious strains 
To the land of the lotus and rose. 

So that my spirit on aerial wings 
Forgets all the sadness it knows. 

There all alone in that dreamland of soiig 

The music of Nature 1 hear, 
For, if the hea/rt is with Nature attuned. 

The words of her message are clear. 

Visions of beauty transformed into song, 

The music of motion and light. 
Make of this dreamland with echoes of sound 

Forever a land of delight. 

So Fm content, tho in silence Fm bound— 
And hear not the music of strings: 

Ever a voice in that silence I hear 
And ivrite doivn the so7ig that it sings 



I WISH THAT I COULD TELL 



In the sound of song and music 

There's a charm for those who hear, 
And they look upon me sadly 

When they see me standing near. 
And they think that I am lonely 

As they reckon what I miss. 
And they seem to be so sorry 

That I lose this cherished bliss. 



But I wish that I could tell them, 

As I smile and turn away, 
Of the voices ever singing 

Through the night and through the day, 
Voices full of sweet reminders 

Of the days of long ago. 
And I hear again the echo 

Of those songs I used to know. 



12 / WISH THAT I COULD TELL 

And I wish that I could tell them 

Of the music that I hear 
With its vibrant tone resounding 

On my inner conscious ear, — 
How it thrills and, creeping o'er me, 

Steals away the bitter sense 
Of the wrong that Nature did me — 

This her gift in recompense. 

And I wish that I could tell them 

Of the music that I see 
In the buds of spring unfolding, 

And the moving melody 
In the motion all about us, 

In the birds and in the flowers, 
In the happy eyes of children 

As they look their love in ours. 

And I wish that I could tell them 

Of the most delightful things 
That I hear and see in silence 

When my inner fancy sings. 
And I wish that I could tell them 

Of the music in the hand 
When in song it moves in rhythm,- 

But they would not understand. 



THE POETR Y OF MOTION 13 



THE POETRY OF MOTION. 



In the poetry of motion there is music if one sees, 

In the soaring birds above us there are moving 
symphonies. 

There is music in the movement of a ship upon 
the wave 

And the sunbeams dancing o'er it, that the min- 
strels never gave. 

There is music in the rhythm of the waving field 

of wheat 
In the swaying leaves on tree-tops, and the skip 

of dancing feet. 
There are songs of gladness for us in the opening 

buds of spring, 
And we understand the message that their fuller 

blossoms bring. 



14 THE POETRY OF MOTION 

There is music in the motion of the yearly chang- 
ing scene 

As the seasons move before us, changing brown 
and white to green. 

There are songs of rapture for us in the colors of 
the sky, 

In the rainbow and the sunset and in cloud-ships 
floating by. 

There is music in the mountains — in their grand- 
eur as they rise 

With their snow-capped summits keeping vigil 
in the hidden skies. 

There is music in the rainfall, and the snow- 
flakes coming down 

Giving earth a white-robed mantle and the trees 
a silver crown. 

Tho' we deaf can hear no music in the touch of 

vibrant strings, 
In the harmony of motion there are songs that 

Nature sings. 
And there's music all around us if we have the 

eyes to see, 
And although we can not hear it we can feel its 

melody. 



THE FAMILY MAN AS A POET 15 



THE FAMILY MAN AS A POET. 

My poetic fancy wanders into thoughts of meas- 
ured rhyme 

And I see my songs go marching downward thru 
the halls of time. 

In an ecst?cy of vision I sit down and try to 
write, 

While my thoughts go soaring upward in a frenzy 
of delight, 

But before I get them marshaled comes a baby's 
pleading cry, 

"Papa, take me; I'm so sleepy." And I take her 
with a sigh. 

Presently she's soundly sleeping and I lay her 

gently down; 
Then I turn to my forsaken paper, forcing back a 

frown, 
"While I thrust my nervous fingers into my dis- 
heveled hair, 
Vainly hoping that I'll find my scattered thoughts 
2 regathered there. 



16 THE FAMILY MAN AS A POET 

When I quiet down to thinking and I turn again to 

write, 
Comes a childish voice and whispers, "Papa kiss 

me now good night." 

All are sleeping now. The room's deserted and I 
fondly count 

That I'm now at peace; so truant Pegasus again 
I mount. 

Now my fancy lingers, coming slowly, then re- 
turns again, 

And the words begin to muster at the bidding of 
my pen. 

But before a line is written comes another ner- 
vous shock, 

And a voice calls sweetly downward, "Don't for- 
get to wind the clock." 



WORK 17 



WORK. 

Work for the joy of working, 

And work for the health it brings; 

Rich the returns of labor 

When heart of the worker sings. 

Work: in the deed you're doing 
The test of your empire lies; 

Work with the best that's in you 
And build to the towering skies. 

Work, and the sting of sorrow, 
The shadow of blighting grief, 

Pain, and the ills of nature 
Are lost in the soul's relief. 

Work for the joy of working, 
And work with a zeal intense; 

Gold's not the measure of payment; 
But peace is its recompense. 



18 WHERE THE WATERS RUN 



WHERE THE WATERS RUN. 



Shallow bed of rocks and pebbles, 

Winding down among the hills; 
Waters singing second trebles, 

Joining voices of the rills; 
There, in every kind of weather. 

Under cloud or in the sun, 
Trout and minnows play together — 

Where the rising waters run. 



Flowers and fern in rich profusion 

Mantle banks of mossy green; 
Light and shadow in confusion 

Dance upon the satin sheen; 
Giant trees with limbs o'erhanging, 

Meeting, intercept the sun; 
Cool retreat for summer angling — 

Where the wid'ning waters run. 



WHERE THE WATERS RUN 19 

Herds of sheep and cattle grazing 

Here and there about the plain; 
Wood and meadow interlacing 

With the fields of growing grain; 
Quail and partridge there in hiding, 

Future victims of the gun, 
For the hunter there is biding — 

Where the quiet waters run. 

Wide and deep the river's growing, 

Ships at wharves in serried ranks; 
Spires above the trees are showing — 

Cities, there, along its banks; 
Nature's beauties all have vanished, 

(Desecrating greed has won). 
Forest creatures have been banished — 

And to sea the waters run. 



20 DO YOU MIND? 



DO YOU MIND? 

Though the winter winds are blowing 

And the cold is in the skies, 
While at night the stars are glowing 

Where the landscape barren lies, 
Do you mind so much that summer 

With its fruits and flowers is fled 
When you're in the "cozy corner" 

And the fire burns bright and red? 



Though the winter hills are whitened 

By the soft and silent snow. 
And the sombre view unbrightened 

Save when lambent sunsets glow; 
Do you mind so much that summer 

With its green is far away 
When, the Dearest One beside you. 

You are gliding in a sleigh? 



DO YOU MIND? 21 

Though the winter's cold has banished 

All the merry picnic days, 
And the summer girl has vanished 

With her captivating ways, 
Do you mind so much that summer 

With its outing days is past 
When the mistletoe and holly 

O'er the days their brightness cast? 



22 A WISH 



A WISH. 

To Edith when she was a child. 

While I am not inclined to grieve 
That nature was unkind to me, 

I sometimes long with all my heart 
To hear the prattler at my knee. 

Her love-lit eyes are raised to mine 
And I can read the language there; 

But oh that I could only hear 

The words she breathes upon the air! 

She climbs upon my lap, and then, 
Her arms about my neck entwine, 

And by the kiss she gives to me 
I know her heart is wholly mine. 

But I would give a world to hear 
Her baby voice and have her say 

"I love you papa, oh, so much." — 
Then smiling kiss my cares away. 



A SONG OF THANKSGIVING 23 



A SONG OF THANKSGIVING. 

We thank Thee, Lord, that Thou didst send 

The men inspired to guide 
Our darkened minds unto the light 

That Nature's wrong denied. 

No joy or happiness we knew 

Till Thou in mercy sent 
These messengers of light to us 

And now we are content. 

We thank Thee still for all the joys 
That from this light have come, 

And that we now have ways to sing 
Altho our lips are dumb. 

And that, altho for us, 'tis true, 

There is no joy in sound, 
Our eyes may find the soul's delight 

In beauty all around. 



24 IN AUTUMN 



IN AUTUMN. 

Now is the time to go roaming 
The woods and the bright tinted fields, 

Seeking for beauty and music 
That Nature so lavishly yields. 

Now may the crown of her glory 
So full and so perfect be seen; 

Now does the sunlight envelope 

And brighten the whole of each scene. 

'Tis from the sunlight the colors 
Have come to the leaves on the trees; 

Stolen from heaven the blue in 
The tints all about us one sees. 

Music around us is surely 

The notes from the music on high 
Loaned to the singers that over 

Us hover and sing in the sky. 

Why not come out and go roaming 
In fields and along the still brooks, 

Reading the pages of Nature 

Instead of those musty old books? 



THE VALLEY DESPAIR 25 



THE VALLEY DESPAIR. 

Deep in the valley Despair lie 

The hearts that are broken, unknown. 

Drowned in the noise of the traffic 
For gold, is the sound of their moan. 

Little we know of the heartache, 

(And few are the ones that may care), 

That bars of a prison have hidden 

And hearts they have doomed to despair. 

Under the heel of the law, to 

Be ground in the mill of the goals, 

What to the judge who presides and 
Condemns, is the tragedy of souls? 

Over the hearts that are saddened 
By wrongs that some other has done. 

Lord, let Thy pity extend, for 
The world in its justice has none. 



26 THE MORGUE 



THE MORGUE. 

Enter softly; this the morgue; 

Tiptoe lightly, make no sound. 
Here the dead lie all about thee; 

Lift thine eyes and gaze around. 
See that youth a step beyond thee 

Who, so peacefully he lies, 
Seems to be but sleeping, yet the 

Hand of death has closed his eyes. 

Found within the public park, a 

Shining weapon by his side; 
And one mute and empty chamber 

Told the tale of how he died. 
He was lured to seek his fortune 

Where the city's glowing lights 
Called to him and promised pleasure, 

Told of manifold delights. 

But the current swept him downward; 

He grew weary with the strife. 
And to cover up his stealing 

He has blotted out his life. 



THE MORGUE 27 

Look and see the next beyond him 

Is a slender childish form; 
Picked up frozen from the door step 
• Where he huddled to keep warm. 

And the next one there; observe it; 

In that bleared and bloated face, 
And the form so bent and shrunken. 

There is scarcely any trace 
Of their former power and glory, 

Ere the mark of drink was there. 
And his soul had been o'ertaken 

By the Demon of Despair. 

Over there beside the window 

Shows a woman's whitened brow; 
Gone, her soul, to Him who gave it 

Where no scorn can reach her now. 
She was forced to sell her virtue 

For the price of bread to live 
For, among a Christian people 

None would pity or forgive. 

Oh, the sorrow and the sadness 

That lie hidden, here revealed, 
And the secrets of the guilty 

That their death forever sealed. 



28 THE MORGUE 

Oh, that here within a country 
Where a Christian nation dwells 

There should be such things to record 
As the morgue thus mutely tells. 

Oh, you thoughtless, pampered people, 

You who count your hours of ease, 
Do you yawn and turn the paper 

When you read such things as these? 
Did you do but half your duty, 

Take the time to go and see, 
Then relieve the poor and wretched, 

Things like these would never be. 



THE WINDMILL 29 



THE WINDMILL. 



'Round and 'round the windmill goes, 
Veering this way, that, 
Like an aerostat, 
Showing us the wind — 
How it blows. 

'Round and 'round the great wings turn 
High above the trees, 
Lightly in the breeze. 
Like a ship at sea, 
Sails astern. 



'Round and 'round the sails rotate 
Turning wheels below 
Swiftly as they go; 
Power from winds above 
They create. 



30 THE WINDMILL 

Turning ever. Cast your eyes 
Anywhere you will; 
Dotting vale and hill 
White-winged sceptres rise 
To the skies. 

Picturesque and lone they stand, 
Rising high and bold 
Like the towers of old 
Watching on the Rhine 
For brigand. 

But no threat'ning vigil now; 
Farmers' signal towers 
In this land of ours 
Mark the change of sword 
For the plow. 



AT CUPID'S ALTAR 



AT CUPID'S ALTAR. 

Of all the gods that ever had 

An altar or a shrine, 
None ever claimed the homage that 

Mankind doth give to thine. 
'Tis to thine altar there doth come 

A rairgling, motley throng; 
The higli and low. the rich and poor, 

The weakling and the strong. 

And there to kneel in equal grace 

The prince and pauper come, 
The master and the slave forget 

The places they are from; 
And purple there with rags will touch 

As they together bide, 
And Homliness will bend the knee 

With Beauty by her side. 

The young are there, in haste to be 

Their love-lit eyes aglow; 
The old come too, — their hearts beat fast 

E'en tho their steps are slow. 



32 AT CUPID'S ALTAR 

For Cupid's shaft hits whom it will 
And none escape the dart, 

And worship of the little god 
Means sacrifice of heart. 



And all who seek that altar rail 

Brings each his love tale there, 
And some are full of joy and hope 

And some have griefs to bear. 
For neither wealth nor age nor time 

Can alter love's behest 
So each must take the god's decree 

And follow with the rest. 



FLORA 33 



FLORA. 

Oh, Flora's face is fair to see 
And Flora's eyes entrancing, 

And Flora, dainty, drawing nigh. 
Doth set my heart a-dancing. 

But Flora's heart is cold as stone, 
And Flora's eyes unheeding; 

And Flora coldly passes by, 
Altho my heart is bleeding. 

And Flora's form is petit, sweet; 

Her smile is wondrous winnmg, 
And for her favor I would fight, 
Or gladly go a-sinning. 

But Flora's smile is not for me — 
Her favor she's denying, 

And Flora will not hear my plea 
But leaves me still a-sighlng. 



84 FREEDOM AND SLA VER Y 



FREEDOM AND SLAVERY. 

To Live? To wage the battle of mankind; 

To toil and struggle for life's need, and be 

Content; no higher aim than this: To see 
The image of one's self and leave behind 
Naught else save earth to earth and kind to kind — 

A slave's existence; soul denied its free 

Development for lack of that which we 
Call education; thralldom that doth bind 

The soul to passion's sway. Is it the aim 
Of man, created image of his God? 

Arise! Thy life was meant for higher 
things. 

With Prometheus's spark our freedom 
came — 
The will that lifts the man above the clod; 

Emancipation from the earth, not kings. 



ASY IT 85 



SAY IT. 

If another's efforts please you say it; 

Silence does not make it understood. 
We can make another's work much lighter, 
We can make the day for others brighter, 

By our approbation, if we would. 
Say it. 

If, for favors, you are grateful, say it; 

Do not let the loving giver go, 
Thinking you have no consideration, 
Thinking that you lack appreciation 

For the gifts his love and thought bestow. 
Say it. 

If you have a friend, and love him, say it; 
Do not wait, and praise him when he's 
dead. 
Many a loyal heart is weary, waiting. 
Many a lonely heart is longing, aching, 
For the word of love we might have said. 
Say it. 



36 A THANKSGIVING SONG 



A THANKSGIVING SONG. 

We thank Thee, Lord, that all our days 
Our wants Thou hast supplied, 

And that through all our devious ways 
Thou ever wast our guide. 

No prayer of theirs hath been in vain 
Who bent the suppliant knee, 

Nor cry for mercy to obtain 
Gone up unheard by Thee. 

And prospered Thou the seed we sowed 

And sent the sun and rain 
Till now our bins are overflowed 

With heaps of golden grain. 

Fulfilled is now the hope of spring, 

The promise of the bloom, 
With autumn's golden offering 

In Nature's altar-room. 



A THANKSGIVING SONG 37 

From dreadful flood and awful fire 

And dread disaster's hand, 
Thou hast preserved our homes entire 

And saved our native land. 

And so we come before Thy throne 

Today on bended knee, 
In thanks for all Thy mercies shown 

And what we owe to Thee. 

And while our songs now fill the air 

On this Thanksgiving day, 
For future help and loving care, 

Oh, Lord, we also pray. 



38 COMPENSATION 



COMPENSATION. 

For each and every loss we bear 

Some recompense we gain; 
And when we miss the goals v/e seek, 

Some other heights attain. 



When Nature wills a cross to some 

In mercy then she sends 
Some compensating gift or strength 

As if to make amends. 



The blind possess a keener ear, 

The deaf a clearer sight 
And what the one regains from sound, 

The other gets from light. 



The fool in mental prison held 
That lives to eat and drink, 

Can never know the curse it is 
To live and not to think. 



COMPENSATION 39 

So Nature gives whene'er she takes 

And makes an even trade, 
And he who loses much, gains more, 

And so the bargain's made. 



40 DOWN THE OLD POTOMAC SHORES 



DOWN THE OLD POTOMAC SHORES. 



Far down the old Potomac shores, 

Along the inland hays, 
We sail in modern boat and muse 

Upon those early days, 
When midst the savage Indian haunts 

Here dwelt the pioneers — 
The men inspired by heaven to guide 

Our country's infant years. 

Here lived the men who first conceived 

The nation's grand design; 
Here fought and won the struggle that 

Preserved that nation's line. 
Not e'en New England's sacred soil 

Can be to us more dear — 
While freedom first was planted there 

'Twas saved and fostered here. 



DOWN THE OLD POTOMAC SHORES 41 

Then whose the heart that does not feel 

The thrill of rapture keen, 
As one by one before his sight 

Appears each passing scene? 
For history adds a double charm 

To beauty of the land 
Where shores of old Virginia 

Face heights of Maryland. 



42 THEN FLL BE CONTENT 



THEN I'LL BE CONTENT. 

If a song of mine will gladden 

Some one's heart with sorrow filled, 

And dispel the thoughts that sadden, 
Or the care their joy has killed; 

Then I'll sing that song of gladness 

That will drive away some sadness 
And I'll be content. 

If a word of mine will brighten 
One upon life's weary road 

If a deed of mine will lighten 
Some one other's heavy load. 

Then, I'll speak that work to brighten 

And I'll do that deed to lighten. 
And I'll be content. 



IN MAY 43 



IN MAY. 

Fields and trees begin to brighten 

In their shown summer dress, 
And the dandelions bloom 

In their golden lovliness; 
All the earth is clothed in verdure 

And the flowers begin to bloom, 
Casting off the sleep of winter 

With its dread of cold and gloom. 

Everywhere tiie eyes are gladdened 

By the green and growing grass; 
Everywhere the birds are singing 

Songs of greeting when you pass; 
All the atmosphere's redolent 

Of the blooming orchard trees. 
And the droning of the beetle 

Joins the buzzing of the bees. 



44 TN MAY 

Then your soul is filled with music 

As of voices low and sweet, 
And you turn with inward longing 

Where the woods and meadows meet; 
And you thrill again with pleasure 

As you idly walk and dream, 
Gazing forward in your vision 

To delights of field and stream. 



A SONG OF GRATITUDE 45 



A SONG OF GRATITUDE. 

From the aitar, hearth and woodland 
Where a grateful people throng, 

Upward from prospered country- 
Goes a glad thanksgiving song; 

Upward to the Lord, the Giver, 
For the goodness he hath shown, 

For the marks of sovereign kindness 
And the mercy we have known. 

For the fullness of the harvest 

That so lavishly has poured 
From the fields so full and freely 

With the gifts of Nature stored; 
For the many countless tokens 

Of the Heavenly Father's love, 
And the blessings that unnumbered 

Shower upon us from above. 

For our homes among the blossoms 

Under His protecting care, 
For the cheer which they bring round us 

And the children gathered there; 



46 A SONG OF GRATITUDE 

For the friends we have to love us, 
And the chance to love them too; 

For the place our lives may brighten 
And the good that we can do. 

For the ever-changing beauties 

That on earth around us lie; 
For the splendor of the sunset 

And the colors in the sky; 
For the thousand gifts from heaven 

That we all may happy be, — 
These, O, Lord in us awaken 

Songs of gratitude to Thee. 



TO A ROBIN 47 



TO A ROBIN. 

Pretty little robin, 

Singing in the trees, 
Why are you so happy? 
Tell me, if you please. 

Scarce has winter vanished 
When your breast of red 

Brings the tidings to us 
That the cold has fled. 

And you come back to us 
Singing all day long, 

Bringing gladness with you 
In your merry song. 

Tell me, why you never 
In the livelong day, 

Once are sad, or ever 
Cease your roundelay. 

But the happy fellow, 

So intent is he 
In his merry-making, 

Will not answer me. 



48 HEAR T LANG UA G E 



HEART LANGUAGE. 

With my heart o'erflowing with its 
Thoughts of love for thee, 

I sit down to write them, hut the 
Pen trails uselessly. 

For the words that come but echo. 

Faintly, from afar. 
Feelings far beyond them as the 

Sun outshines the star. 

Depths the heart alone may fathom, 

Words can not express, 
And for feelings deep and tender, 

They are meaningless. 

Yet, my dear, I'm sure thou knowest 

All my love for thee — 
Heart to heart can tell it while the 

Pen trails aimlessly. 



WHATS THE GOOD? 49 



WHAT'S THE GOOD? 

What's the good of always whining 
When the weather goes all wrong? 

Soon you'll see the sun a-shining; 
Quit your grumbling sing a song. 

What's the good of always pining 
When misfortune is your lot? 

Soon you'll see the silver lining; 
Make the best of what you've got. 

What's the good of always sighing 
When by chance your hopes are killed? 

Nothing ever comes of crying 
Over milk that has been spilled. 



50 THE MODERN PEACEMAKER 



THE MODERN PEACEMAKER. 

In days of old as we are told, 
The goddess Peace was fair; 

Her dress of gauze was so because 
They worshiped beauty rare. 

But nowadays we've changed our ways 
And turned the goddess down; 

Instead of her we now prefer 
A man in khaki brov/n. 

From head to heel in arms of steel, 

For olive branch, a sword, 
On foreign soil where v/hite men toil 

He awes a savage horde. 

He sails the seas in pampered ease 
In ships of twelve-inch mail, 

With many guns of numbered tons, 
To make the nations quail. 

To keep afar the dogs of war 
Come plunk youn taxes down; 

We have to feed 'gainst day of need 
The man in khaki brown. 



THE SILVER LINING 51 



THE SILVER LINING. 

Few the buds that bloom in splendor, 

Full fruition may attain; 
Yet the world has had their fragrance 

And they blossomed not in vain. 

Few the hopes we fondly cherish 

Their fulfilment ever reach, 
Yet the heart hath grown the stronger 

With the lesson that they teach. 

Few the ones our love hath singled 
Live to greet us at the end, 

Yet our lives have known the sweetness 
That it means to have a friend. 

Never all the year is summer, 
Never all the days are fair; 

Never life without a shadow, 
Never heart without a care. 

Yet as in the depths of midnight 
Gleams a star of silver light, 

Thru the darkest disappointment 
Hope is shining clear and bright. 



52 FICKLE FORTUNE 



FICKLE FORTUNE. 

We shuffle the cards and deal them out 
And chance their fate controls; 

And some get the trumps and win the 
game 
Then smile at the luckless souls. 

And often I think in the game of life, 
Allotted our gifts like these; 

And some drink wine from golden cups 
And some get only the lees. 

For Fortune will smile as Caprice com- 
mands, 
And justice is blind you know; 
And come good or ill to the sons of 
men 
As shows on the dice we throw. 



THE METEOR 53 



THE METEOR. 

A-sudden comes a flash of light, 
A meteor through the sky — 

A spark from out the inky night 
That none knows whence or why. 

Is it a spark from Vulcan's forge 
From off his anvil thrown? 

Or from some far off starry gorge 
That belches molten stone? 

Whate'er it is we may not know, 

But this the tale it tells: 
Far in the depths where starlights glow 

A power above us dwells. 



54 ON GALL A UDET'S BIRTHDA Y 



ON GALLAUDET'S BIRTHDAY. 

Each country has its cherished name 

Of patriot or sage; 
Each war of freedom gives to fame 

A name for heritage. 

But victories of peace exceed 

The victories of war; 
And greater than the man or deed; 

The cause he battled for. 

And he who wears his life away 
In some great cause of right, 

Deserves the wreath as much as they 
Who perish in the fight. 

While stone may mark a soldier's mound, 

Perpetuate a name — 
'Tis in the hearts of men is found 

The truest test of fame. 



ON GALL A UDET'S BIRTHDA Y 55 

Now, while we meet in honor of 

Our benefactor's birth, 
We'll join our word's of praise and love 

With feasting, song and mirth. 

Emancipator of the mind 

By deafness held in thrall; 
Of lives, by nature, doomed to find 

The bitterness and gall. 

He helped us apprehend the stars; 

He showed us to the light; 
He broke for us the prison bars 

That held us in the night. 

Forsaken of the church and law, 

He spoke and bade us rise; 
The beauty of the earth we saw 

And hope beyond the skies. 

He spent his life in work and thought 

To better human kind; 
The battles of the weak he fought 

In knighthood of the mind. 



56 ON GALLAUDETS BIRTHDAY 

We'll ne'er forget our debt to thee, 

Nor let thy fame decline; 
Our patron saint thou'lt ever be, 

As Hartford is our shrine. 

And by our words and deeds we'll prove 

Some hearts are loyal yet, 
And beat with gratitude and love 

For you, dear Gallaudet. 



A COMPARISON 57 



A COMPARISON. 

The miner delves beneath the rocks 

For hidden gra'ns of gold, 
And scant his store of counted wealth 

With all his labors told. 

The farmer delves in surface soil 
And plants his grains of gold, 

Then waits till Nature gives them back 
Increased a thousand fold. 

The miner delves in caverns deep 

Beyond the reach of sun, 
The joy of day denied to him 

And soon his race is run. 

The farmer delves in open air 

Among the fragrant fields, 
And Nature all her lavish store 

Of song and blossom yields. 



58 A COMPARISON 

The miner delves in peril of 

His life on every hand 
And all he gets in recompense 

Are grains of golden sand. 

The farmer delves among delights 

In comfort and in ease, 
And his rewards: the joy of health 

And all the earth's increase. 

Now who would delve beneath the rocks 

For grains of golden sand 
When Nature gives in golden ears 

Her wealth upon the land? 



A COASTING SONG 59 



A COASTING SONG 

Merry lads and lassies gather 

On the winter-whitened hills, 
Bringing with them love and laughter 

And the merriment that fills 
All the air with joyous singing 

As on sleds they speed along, 
With their youthful voices ringing 

With this merry coasting song: 

The stars are bright, 

Our hearts are light 
And merrily we sing, 
And speed we by 

As thru the sky 
A bird upon the wing. 

Away with care 

Let no one dare 
To think of her tonight; 

With mirth and song 

We'll speed along 
Beneath the moon so bright. 



60 A COASTING SONG 

Oh what care we 

How cold it be 
With youth and love together? 

We'll sport the while 

And time beguile 
And laugh at wind and weather. 



THE SPIRIT OF THE WILD 61 



THE SPIRIT OF THE WILD. 

Here a virgin kingdom lies 

Fresh from the Creator's hands 

Where the giant white pines rise 

Far into the northern skies, 

From the damp and sunless sands. 



And beneath the arch o'erhead 

Never reaches sunlight there; 
Gloom and silence of the dead, 
Where the offspring wild are bred. 
In the nest or in the lair. 



O'er this kingdom, undefiled 

By the touch of human hand, 
Rules the Spirit of the Wild- 
Spirit that time once beguiled 
From the far-off desert land. 



62 THE SPIRIT OF TEE WILD 

There enthroned among the trees; 

Tangled vines and thorny bow'ers 
Making Nature's canopies, 
Clinging moss her tapestries; 

Courtiers are the ferns and flow'rs. 



Dressed in gauze the spider weaves — 

Gorgeous trains of rainbow hues; 
Hair the sunlight bound in sheaves, • 
Glist'ning there among the leaves, 
Diamond crov/ned with crystal dews. 

Pan for her his reed pipe plays, 

Nymphs and dryads come at call. 
Song birds sing their roundelays. 
And the scepter that she sways 

Holds the wood sprites there in thrall. 

Wrapt in gloomy solitude, 

There she sits in courts of green; 
Bird and beast and reptile brood 
Wait upon her changing mood. 
Servile to their haughty queen.' 



TO DOROTHY 63 



TO DOROTHY. 

On Her Fifth Birthday, March 23, 1905. 

Dear little eyes, that lift to mine, 
With light of love o'erflowing, 

And mirrored in whose depths I see 
Unclouded trust there showing: 

May they be quick to see the good, 
The beautiful in knowing. 

Dear little heart that beats so warm, 

So little known to sadness, 
That knows naught yet of griefs to come 

Nor what there is of badness: 
That I could keep thee free from sin 

And will thee only gladness. 

Dear little arms that softly twine 

Around my neck caressing, 
Dear rosebud lips, so lovingly 

Against my own now pressing; 
How rich in happiness am I, 

The right to you possessing. 



64 CAMPING OUT 



CAMPING OUT. 

The happiest of summers 

Is by the water-side 
Or camping in the mountains 

With living simplified; 

A-tramping through the meadows 
Or wading in the brooks, 

Zigzagging through the forest 
In quest of shady nooks. 

A fragrant bed of cedar, 

A canopy of white, 
Are better than all tonic 

To set a man aright. 

The costliest of dinners 

Is not to be compared 
To speckled trout and bacon. 

When 'round a camp-fire shared. 



CAMPING OUT 65 

The pelDbly brook goes rippling, 

The trout a moment shine, 
Enticing me to follow 

With creel and rod and line. 



The trees are full of incense, 
The winds are full of song, 

And Nature's voices everywhere 
A. 3 calling me along 



To join the merry campers, 
Beside the lakes and brooks 

To leave my weary labors 
And cast aside my books; 



To share again the pleasures 
Of Nature's open hand; 

To lie among the flowers. 
Or sunning in the sand — 



The world outside forgotten. 
My mind and soul at ease. 

And Nature's music makers 
Above me in the trees. 



CAMPING OUT 

The woods are summer playgrounds 
For Nature's worshippers, 

And all her secrets open 
To her interpreters. 

The freedom of the forest 
Brings freedom of the mind, 

The vanity of fashion 

And pride, are left behind. 

The beauty all around me 

Brings thoughts of higher things, 
And, to my ear attuned, 

The soul of Nature sings. 



WILLIAM J. B. 67 



WILLIAM J. B. 

He stood on the platform, did William 
J. B., 
Arrayed in a ten dollar suit; 
'Twas crimped in the back and 'twas 
bagged at the knee, 
And minus three buttons to boot. 

But six penny nails held his trousers in 
place 
And gave him a grang-er-like air; 
A red dyed bandanna mopped sweat from 
his face 
And head where 'twas minus the hair. 

And William he talked and he talked and 
he talked 
And pounded the table and swore 
The poor man was being continually 
balked 
In his efforts to add to his store 



WILLIAM J. B. 

By plutocrats' lust and monopoly's greed 
The government allowed to exist; 

He numbered their wrongs and he told 
of their need 
And made out a two column list. 

He talked of the tariff, insurance, re- 
bates; 
Of bribery, railroads and graft, 
And when he got through with the ship 
of our states 
You'd think it a derelict raft. 

He talked of corruption beyond our be- 
lief, 

And everything under the sun, 
And everyone drew a deep sigh of relief 

When William was ended and done. 



"WHAT SHALL THE HARVEST BE?" 69 



"WHAT SHALL THE HARVEST BE?' 

On July h 

Hurry, mother, bring a bandage, 
And we'll tie up Willie's thumb; 

Held a cracker; it exploded; 
Now his hand is out of plumb. 

Bring the cotton and some plaster, 
And we'll wrap up Tommy's eye; 

When the rocket wouldn't fizzle 
Tommy sought the reason why. 

Sister, go and call the doctor; 

He'll graft skin on Freddie's face; 
Freddie lit a can of powder 

And it blew him into space. 

Father, order up a coffin 

And we'll bury Sammy Stout; 

"Didn't know the gun was loaded," 
When he went and brought it out. 



70 "WHAT SHALL THE HARVEST BE?" 

Call the ambulance to gather 

Human fragments here and there, 

That are scattered o'er the pavement 
Or are falling from the air. 

Thus we kill and maim with powder 

In this patriotic way 
While for nurses and for doctors 

'Tis a glorious harvest day. 



LINES ACCOMPANYING A PICTURE 71 



LINES ACCOMPANYING A PICTURE. 

Pray, dear old Prex, accept this card, 

As though it were a valentine, 
That from the past this message brings 

With love to yon from me and mine; 

Though outward grace old time may change 
And turn the hair from gold to gray, 

It can not make old friends forget, 
Nor steal their love, once won, away. 



72 MY KINGDOM 



MY KINGDOM. 

O, what care I for power or gold, 
When round about my knee, 

My children prattle o'er their toys 
Or turn their eyes to me. 

The glow of health is in their cheeks 
While joy lights up the eye 

And never king surveys domain 
With prouder heart than 1. 

In sweet content and perfect bliss 

I sit my arm-chair throne, 
And gaze in rapture o'er the scene — 

A kingdom all my own. 

And love rules o'er this court of mine 
That has but four plain walls, 

But I would not exchange it for 
The gilded palace halls. 



MY KINGDOM 73 

And there I sit in thankfulness 

For my two little girls, 
My wealth and happiness bound up 

Within their tangled curls. 

And we, the mother queen and I, 
Watch where our kingdom lies, 

Our sun and moon and stars and all 
Shine from their four blue eyes. 



AT DEAR OLD OALLAUDET 



AT DEAR OLD GALLAUDET. 

Tho years have come and years have gone 

There's ever with us yet 
The memory of our college days 

At dear old Gallaudet. 

'Tis sweet that now those days are past 

And college joys are o'er, 
To muse upon "the good old times" 

Of days that are no more. 

The old familiar scenes I knew 

Come crowding to my brain 
As pleasures of those golden days 

I oft live o'er again. 

The dear old walls, all ivyclad. 

The clock up in the tower — 
How many, many happy days 

Thy tongue hath struck the hour! 



AT DEAR OLD GALLAUDET 75 

The "garlic grounds" beyond the hedge — 

What triumphs they recall! 
What victories the Buff and Blue 

There won with bat and ball! 



The "gym," the pool, the tennis courts. 

The coasting on the hills — 
The mention of whose memories now 

My heart with longing fills. 



The "reading room," the lyceum, 

The grim old chapel hall; 
The hid retreat, the "bums' resort," 

(You see I know them all.) 

The faculty that awed our youth, 

In stature smaller grown, 
But more and more in reverence held 

As we their service own. 



And dear old "prex," how little then 

His love we really knew, 
Or how our careless thoughtless ways 

So often pierced him thru. 



76 AT DEAR OLD OALLAUDET 

But now we see with clearer eyes 

And come our debt to pay, 
And at his feet in penitence 

A loving tribute lay. 

Forgotten now the foes we fought, 

We see thru older eyes; 
The friends we loved — the true and tried 

We now more highly prize. 

Tho years may come and years may go 

We never can forget 
The glories of those college days 

At dear old Gallaudet. 



DEMODOCUii 77 



DEMODOCUS. 

The ancients were discerning men, and held 

this doctrine true, 
That when the gods would take away, they 

left some gift in lieu. 
And you may read the tale I tell, in books of 

ancient lore, 
To prove the law of recompense was known 

so long before. 

The gods to blind Demodocus denied the joy 

of light, 
And so, in lieu thereof the muses gave him 

inward sight, 
And skill above all other men to play the 

harp and sing. 
The chosen bard was he of good Alcinous, 

the king. 

And at his court the Greeks had made for 

him a silver chair. 
And when the king his feasting had, the bard 

was seated there. 



78 DEMODOCUS 

And never yet had mortal heard, and never 

mortal since, 
Such music as this minstrel made, to whom 

the gods gave recompense. 

So runs the tale, as Homer in his Iliad has 
told. 

It was the Grecian bard himself, who wan- 
dered blind and old; 

And while he sings another's praise, he mod- 
estly reveals 

The gratitude he owes the gods and for their 
solace feels. 



WHEN THE TRAIX GOE^ BY 79 



WHEN THE TRAIN GOES BY. 

I stop to watch the train go by 

With fascinated eyes, 
And turning ask myself wherein 

This fascination lies. 

A common sight it is, and yet 

I gaze in awe to see 
This moving thing of iron and steel 

So wrapt in mystery. 

It moves along the guiding rails 

With majesty and ease; 
And carries countless messages 

And human destinies. 

But why should I, when loud and clear 

Its whistle cleaves the air, 
Drop ev'rything and idly stand 

And full of wonder stare? 

In human awe for power, I think, 

The explanation lies, 
And I but homage pay to that 

Which it exemplifies. 



go MOTHER'S COOKING 



MOTHER'S COOKING. 

How the pies that mother made 
Put all others in the shade ! 
Apple, custard, pumpkin, too, — 
Her's the best I ever knew. 
She knew how to cook all these 
With the other things that please. 
How my heart with longing turns 
Backward to those days and yearns 
Just to be a boy again 
So's to eat as I did then! 

May be time has wrought a change 
Can't tell why, 'tis very strange — 
May be mother's getting old 
And of skill is losing hold — 
But, somehow, it seems to me 
Now, a man, I go to see 
Mother, and take dinner there 
That her cooking don't compare 
With the skill she used to show 
In my youth so long ago. 



MOTHER'S COOKING 81 

And I wonder sometimes, when 

All these boys of ours are men, 

Will they boast as we do now 

Of their mothers and tell how 

"Mother used to cook," and grieve 

Wives of theirs, and make believe 

Nothing in their later day 

Holds a candle to the way 

Things were done when they were boys 

And the earth was full of joys. 



82 BE 8UXXY 



BE SUNNY. 



If We go about our business 

With a bright and smiling face 
We will find it mirrored 'round us 

Filling every busy place. 
It will lighten all the labor 

Of a dreary, rainy day, 
Not alone for us but others 

And I tell you it will pay. 



If we take our task and do it, 

Shirking nothing we should do, 
It will seem so much the lighter 

When the weary work is thru. 
And we'll feel the better for it 

When an inner voice can say: 
"Something else is now accomplished; 

It has been a useful day." 



BE .SUNNY 83 



If we love our work and do it 

With a quick and willing hand, 
We will reap a richer harvest 

And we'll better understand 
How to make our work a pleasure 

And to quickly do away 
With the drudgery of labor 

And I tell you it will pay. 



84 MY POINT OF VIEW 



MY POINT OF VIEW. 

I know my ears are closed to sound 
And lose the charm that music brings; 

I know that I can never hear 
The voice, (they say,) so sweetly sings; 

The sound of song — it must be sweet; 

(My friends w^ho hear have told me so;) 
But what is that to me since fate 

Decrees that I shall never know? 

What knows the bird of buoyant air 
'Till it has spread its wings and flown? 

Then why should I be thought to miss 
The things I never yet have known? 

For sound — the thing you tell me of — 

Is meaningless to me; 
And what to you comes thru the ears, 

In other forms I feel and see. 



VACATION TIME DREAMS 85 



VACATION TIME DREAMS. 



Out of the streets and the alleys 

Into the forests of pine, 
Over the hills and the valleys 

Crossing the settlement line; 
Leaving the toil of the strivers, 

Seeking the freedom of Pan, 
Far from the call of the drivers, 

Where there is rest for a man. 



Camping with Nature, the Giver, 

Eating the "fat of the land," 
Tramping the banks of the river. 

Tackle and gun in your hand; 
Stalking the deer in the thicket, 

List'ning to calls of the wild, 
Then for the paths to the wicket. 

There where the trophies are piled. 



VAC AT I ox TIME DREA3IS 

Starting the partridge from cover, 

Whistling for sight of a quail, 
And where the frightened birds hover 

Trying for a shot at a rail; 
Watching the flight of the singers. 

Fishing for trout in the streams. 
Longing for chance at the wingers — 

These are vacation time dreams. 



A THANKSGIVIXG HYMX 87 



A THANKSGIVING HYMN. 

The rays of the sun are now smiling 
On hills and the valleys fruit filled; 

The harvests are stored for the winter 
From fields that so lately were tilled; 

And never before have they yielded 
Such fullness as comes from them now, 

And never before have thus prospered 
The footsteps that follow the plow. 

And far from the city is echoed 
The tale of prosperity there, 

And good that has come to the country 
The toilers in factories share. 

And nothing of need is there lacking, 
And nothing of good is denied; 

The wants of the world in His goodness 
The hand of the Lord hath supplied. 



88 A THANKSGIVING HYMN 

So music is everywhere pealing 
In strains of a glorious hymn, 

And songs of the world now go upward 
In praise and thanksgiving to Him; 

To Him who hath prospered the sowing; 

To Him who in infinits love 
Hath showered the world with the blessings 

That come from the kingdom above. 



BEFORE THANKSGIVING 89 



BEFORE THANKSGIVING. 

The turkey struts the barnyard now, 

Unmindful of the time 
When he will grace the festive board 

Of Uncle Ezra Kime. 

He little knows that every eye 

Is watching how he grows, 
And extra feed he gets just to 

Increase his adipose. 

And that within a few short weeks 

He'll lie upon a plate 
All trussed and roasted nice and brown, 

And garnished up in state, 

When Uncle Ezra's city friends 

In good old fashioned way, 
Come out to share his dinner there 

On next Thanksgiving Day. 



90 LOVE'S CROWN 



LOVE'S CROWN. 

To Mr. and Mrs. H. W. R. on their i5th Wedding Anniversary. 



Another milestone in your lives 

Is counted with the last, 
Another added to the years 

Which you've together passed; 
With hearts attuned in one great thought 

That bound your souls as one, 
Love crowned your lives with happiness 

That few on earth have won. 

And to those years so filled with gifts 

And blessings few may share, 
Look back and count the fruitful fields 

Your love hath planted there; 
The friends you made, the deeds your love 

Inspired your hearts to. do; 
Now comes the harvest, and love bears 

The garnered sheaves to you. 



LOVE'S CROWN 91 

And we, a few of those dear friends 

Would share your joy tonight, 
For we have known the love that made 

All round about you bright. 
And may the years now yet to come 

Still shower their blessings down, 
For heaven is ne'er more pleased than when 

Love wreathes a golden crown. 



92 -'il^ you MAKE IT 



AS YOU MAKE IT. 

Many things you'll find to cheer you 
In this queer old world of ours; 

Never mind the thorns beneath them, 
Keep your eyes upon the flowers. 

What if divers things do vex you? 

There's a cure for every ill; 
And it won't take long to find it 

If you've courage and the will. 

Look around you at the blossoms, 
Kill the weeds or pass them by; 

All the world is clothed in beauty 
Save to those with jaundiced eye. 

For your world is what you make it — 

Full of joy or full of woe; 
Carry smiles and sunshine with you 

And you'll find them where you go. 



r^ip-^f-^-'^-^' 



AS YOU MAKE IT 93 

If you look for slight you'll find it; 

Look for wrong and wrong you'll find: 
Water always seeks its level, 

Like loves like and kind its kind. 

And if what you seek's beyond you, 
Turn and take what's near at hand; 

And if there's no chair beside you. 
Thank the Lord you still can stand. 

Oh, there's many things to cheer you 
In this queer old world of ours; 

And tho days are sometimes stormy, 
Comes the rainbow after showerg. 



94 THEN AXD NOW 



THEN AND NOW. 

When the earth is wrapped in silence 
With the mantle of the night, 

And I seek the cozy corner 

Where the fire is burning bright. 

And I gaze upon the shadows 
Where the fitful firelight gleams, 

Fancy takes me with her backward 
To my vanished boyhood dreams. 

And again the airy castles 
That I built before me rise, 

And I smile at boyish visions 
As they pass before my eyes. 

Once again I tramp the furrow 
With my hand upon the plow, 

And the fragrance of the meadows 
Brings a longing to me now. 



THE'M AND NOW % 

There beyond the hills and pastures 

With its shining, golden spires, 
Full of wealth and dazzling promise 

Stood the City of Desires. 

There the way to fame and fortune, 

Easy sailing of the seas; 
There the rounds of joy and pleasure 

Midst a life of pampered ease. 

There no more the weary burdens 

That the farm forever brings; 
Only hours of glad employment 

That flew by on golden wings. 

Ah, the dreams my youthful longing 

Built upon my discontent. 
With the rainbow hues around them, 

And enchantment distance lent. 

Gone those dreams! How quickly vanished! 

Time and tide have changed since then, 
And I'm weary with the city, — 

Longing for the farm again. 



10 



96 FOR ETERNITY'S SLEEP 



FOR ETERNITY'S SLEEP. 

On the death of a friend' s father ivho loved God's out-of-doors 

Bury him not where the willows maj^ weep 
Nor the wind thru their branches may sigh; 

Lay him to rest for eternity's sleep 
Where there's naught 'twixt the earth and the 
sky. 

Bury him not where the saddening pines 
Cast their shadows and darken the light; 

Bury him there v/here the sun ever shines 
And the stars cast their glory by night. 

There be his grave where no shadows may fall, 
But the light of the skies overhead; 

There where the grass and the flowers for a pall 
In their beauty may cover the dead. 

Find him a place where in death he'll repose 

In the hills in the freedom of air. 
So that his ashes may rest at the close 

Where he loved; and then bury him there. 



THE HUMAN HAXD 97 



THE HUMAN HAND. 

Behold, a perfect work in Nature's plan 

In this, the ^'.^nan hand, so framed to be 

The ser .ant of the will in harmony 
With all the needs of Nature's offspring, man 
Who sways the sceptre over Nature's clan; 

'Tis master of the power which man sets free 

Or binds at will, and by which he 
Is sovereign of all the forces that he can 
Discover; made to carry and to bring; 

What appetite may crave, the hand supplies; 

The artist's brush, the chisel and the pen, 
The workman's tool, the sceptre of the king 

Alike it wields; unto the sightless, eyes, 
The dumb, a tongue; the all in all of men. 



CONTRARIES 



CONTRARIES. 



I still have Adam's suit to wear 
When I take off my clothes; 

And then I lose myself in sleep 
To find surcease from woes. 

You know we have to go in squares 
When we go 'round the town; 

And woman's prone to buying up 
The things that are marked down. 

A clock must needs stay on the wall 

Yet on and on it goes; 
And I would fain remain in bed 

If I would seek repose. 

The doctor says you're very low 
Whene'er your fever's high; 

Tho wet, champagne is best, they say 
When it is extra dry. 



CONTRARIES 99 

And when a country man is dull, 

A sharp he's sure to meet; 
And while you're standing on your rights, 

You may be off your feet. 

So, frequently in words we find 

There's some queer paradox, 
Where some poor foreigner is wrecked 

On linguistic rocks. 



100 THE MASTER POET 



THE MASTER POET. 

Verses? Yes, we all can write them 
But 'tis only now and then, 

That the master comes to thrill us 
With the magic of his pen. 

He, the master poet, lifts us 
To the subtler realms of thought; 

What he sees in God-sent visions 
By his skill in words is wrought. 

He, divinely chosen singer, 
Reads the message from above, 

Sweetly tunes his lyre to waken 
Human hearts to hope and love. 

He, the gifted, reads the meaning 
Thru the mist of human tears. 

Tunes his lyre to songs of solace, 
For our longings, for our fears. 



WHY REPINE r 101 



WHY REPINE? 

Tho I missed the first spring blossom 

Why should I repine? 
Are there not a thousand others 

Just as fresh and fine? 

Tho the fish I caught escaped me 

Why be overwrought, 
Are there not a thousand others 

Good as ever caught? 

Tho the girl I loved has left me 

Why should I despair? 
Are there not a thousand others 

Just as young and fair? 



102 THE MODERN STANDARD 



THE MODERN STANDARD. 

New problems for the world to solve 

Each cycle, turning, brings; 
The constant change of years has wrought 

The need for different things. 
No longer now are we content 

With must of ancient lore; 
The standard set for modern lads 

Requires of them yet more. 

The strenuous life that now we live 

Demands that hand and brain 
Together work in order to 

The highest art attain. 
The mind to plan, the hand to do 

And skill its work to guide, 
And then we have the boy or man 

For life's stern strife supplied. 



UP AXZ) DOir.Y THE STREETS 103 



UP AND DOWN THE STREETS. 

Up and down the city streets 

See the crowds that come and go; 

Some on business there intent, 
Some for only idle show, 

Coming here and going there 

Jostling crowds are everywhere. 

Men and women, boys and girls, 
Big and little, great and small, 

Fat and lean and square and round; 
Some are short and some are tall; 

Some in rags and some in silk, 

Every kin and every ilk. 

Some that carry loads of grief, 

Some that laugh and some that sigh 

Some on secret sin are bent 

Watching chance with eagle eye; 

Erring woman, hardened man, 

Modest maid and preacher clan. 



104 UP AND DOWN THE STREETS 

Colors sombre, colors gay, 
In kaleidoscopic change; 

Every fashion, every style 

From the old to new and strange; 

Farmer folk and city swells. 

Ugly men and lovely belles. 

Envy, greed and lust for gain, 
Love and hope and tragedy, 

Disappointment, grief and pain, 
Joy and smiles and comedy, — 

Carried by the ones we meet 

Going up and down the street. 



A TOAST 



A TOAST. 



105 



Come, my comrads, fill your glasses 
Come and drink a toast with me, 

And recall the glories of the 
Army of the Tennessee. 

Side by side we stood in battle 
As we faced our country's foe; 

Side by side we shared the fortunes 
Of the war in weal or woe. 

Side by side we charged at Shiloh 
Where ten thousand comrades fell 

Where we stood before the canon 
And beheld the jaws cf hell. 

Still together on to Vicksburg, 
Thence to eastern Tennessee; 

Southward next thru sunny Georgia 
And the march clear to the sea. 

And after all the hardship 

Of those four long years of war 
We at last shared in the triumph 
Of the cause we battled for. 



106 ^ TOAST 

With no bitterness or malice 
But with "charity for all," 

We have met here now together 
And the days of old recall. 

With our difference forgotten 

In a new united land, 
Where one flag is floating o'er us 

We will clasp the southern hand. 

And we'll pause to pay a tribute 
To the ones who, fallen, lie 

With a mound of green above them 
'Neath a friendly southern sky. 

And tho age is creeping o'er us 
And our steps are growing slow, 

We'll respond with courage when the 
Great Commander bids us go. 

So, my comrades, fill your glasses, 
Come and drink a toast with me 

To the undimmed glories of the 
Army of the Tennessee. 



THE BUFF AND THE BLUE 107 



THE BUFF AND THE BLUE. 

Come and we'll join in a song and a cheer, 

And pledge to our colors anew; 
Colors by romance and story made dear — 

All hail to the Buff and the Blue! 

Colors of beauty and colors of might, 

How dear to the hearts of us all! 
Colors we hail with a thrill of delight, 

What glorious days they recall! 

Waving triumphantly over the field 

Where valor and beauty are met, 
Telling of triumph o'er foes as they yield 

To prowess of old Gallaudet. 

Wave them aloft and then cheer them above 
With hearts that are loyal and true, 

Colors that all of us reverence and love — 
Forever, the Buff and the Blue! 



108 THE WORKER'S RECOMPENSE 



THE WORKER'S RECOMPENSE. 

In the thrill of his creation, not the gain, 
The sculptor's real incentive lies; 

And the artist finds his compensation in 
The perfect lines that meet his eyes. 

In the pleasure of the winning, not the prize 
The runner gets the most delight; 

In the pride of doing something to excel 
The toiler's work grows light. 



All, the artist, sculptor, and the artisan, 
Find joy in that which each loves best; 

The pride of work, the glory of o'ercoming, 
To art and labor give the zest. 



Whether gain be great or small, 'tis one; 

There's joy which only workers know; 
In the shaping of a form at will, the while 

Beneath their eyes its beauties grow. 



THE WORKER'S RECOMPENSE 109 

'Tis the glory in the triumph, leads them on 
And keeps the spirit strong and tense; 

Gives to him who toils, tho he may miss the goal 
His greatest, most prized recompense. 



110 MY RECOMPENSE 



MY RECOMPENSE. 



The noisy band goes marching by 

But not a sound I hear, 
For Nature in a naughty mood 

Once closed my outer ear. 



But tho I lose those martial strains 
Some recompense have I; 

The rhythm of their moving feet 
Is music to the eye. 

The winds that whisper to the trees 
Bring naught of sound to me; 

But far above in purple haze 
The singing leaves I see. 



And in the flowers that blossom near 

Or sparkle with the dew, 
I read a thousand color notes 

And know their music, too. 



MY RECOMPENSE m 

And yonder bird that fills the air 

With his triumphant note; — 
Do I not see the music in 

His trim and shapely throat? 

And in the plumage that bedecks 

His back and brilliant wings? 
For tho bereft of sound I know 

When light or motion sings. 



12 



112 THE GIFT THAT 18 OURS 



THE GIFT THAT IS OURS. 

There on the mound where the soldier lies 

Scatter a wealth of flowers; 
Meagre the gift for the debt we owe — 

Owe for the peace that is ours. 

His was the gift of a patriot's life 

Laid on the alter of war; 
Ours is the gift of a grateful land — 

Land that he battled for. 

Soon we'll have but the headstones white. 

To tell of that civil strife, 
When, in the throes of a fearful birth 

"Was brought forth our national life. 

Over the graves where our heroes sleep 
The North and the South join hands, 

Each with a thought of the other's loss, 
And each of us understands. 



TO THE PA8-A-PA8 CLUB 113 



TO THE PAS-A-PAS CLUB. 

On the occasion of its Silver Jubilee 

As a traveler on a summit 
Stops to rest along the way, 

And looks back to view tJie windings 
Where his toilsome journey lay. 

Or a Knight discards his armor 

At the setting of the sun " 
And reviews his strength, and courage 

By recounting laurels won, 

Comes a pause in thy advancement 

On this Silver Jubilee 
When the eye may now turn backward 

And in clear perspective see 

All the past that lies behind thee 

With its varied memories 
And behold in panorama 

All the hard won victories. 



X14 20 THE PA SAP AS CLUB 

Five and twenty years of triumpli 
Now have crowned thy chartered life— » 

Years that conquered opposition; 
Left thee stronger after strife. 

Firmly now thy name established 
After years of patient growth; 

Step by step progressing onward 
Gaining strength and numbers both. 

Step by step, though slow but surely 
Was thy present glory gained; 

Step by step, by slowly climbing 
Were thy present heights attained. 

In the motto thou hast chosen 

Lies the key to all success; 
Step by step, by persevering; 

Doth the world at large progress. 



ai|Hm^0 STrnm ttj^ S^t\\wl ^wm 



SCHOOL TIME. 

Brush the dust from off your desk 

And sweep the cobwebs from your brain; 
Gather up your scattered books 

That long in hidden nooks have lain; 
Summer days are done, 
School days have begun, 
And the call to study comes again. 



'Reading, 'riting, 'rithmetic, 

Were good enough in days before, 
But in modern times to them 
We have to add a hundred more: 
Science, chemistry. 
Logic, history. 
With a lot of ancient musty lore. 

Greek and Latin, German, French, 

And lots of "oligies" to mix 
With philosophy and law, 



118 SCHOOL TIME 

Astronomy and politics, 
Minerology, 
Physiology, 
And a dozen more in "y" and "ics." 



So, away your summer dreams 

And find your paper, pen and ink; 
Get together odds and ends 
And fix your "thinking cap" to think; 
Play days now are past, 
Fall has come at last. 
To the "fount of knowledge" go and drink. 



STILL MORE BEYOXD 119 



STILL MORE BEYOND. 

/. S. D. Class Poem, 1905 



Nothing in this life's completed, 

Something still remains undone; 
When the end may seem the nearest 

Often we have just begun. 
Looking forward to life's promise 

As the seasons 'round us roll, 
Ever learning, ever striving, 

Still beyond us lies the goal. 



Something still to be completed, 

Something further to be learned; 
In the future, something higher, 

Something better to be earned. 
Toil and work and endless striving 

To our efforts oft respond, 
And there's something left to strive for 

Something still there is beyond. 



120 STILL MORE BEYOND 

When one task is thru and ended 

There's another to begin; 
And the more that we accomplish 

Greater grow our burdens then. 
When one lesson has been mastered. 

There's another yet to do; 
When the book is closed and finished 

Points its ending further too. 

Still there's always something higher. 

Something to be better done; 
Never quite contented with our work 

Until the prize is won. 
But we'll not become discouraged — 

'Tis the weaklings that despond — 
While we keep in mind our motto 

That there still is more beyond. 

Hope is always left to cheer us 

When the clouds around us rise, 
And we know that thei^e beyond them 

Lie the blue and sunny skies. 
And when death at last shall claim us 

And we break our earthly bond, 
There is comfort in the promise 

That there still is more beyond. 



DOES IT PAY? 121 



DOES IT PAY? 

Weary and sad and dejected 

I sat at tht close of the day, 
Tediously marking some papers 

Before I could hurry away. 

Thoughts of the day's disappointments 
Came thronging to sadden me then; 

Thoughts of how utterly fruitless 

My efforts seemed then to have been. 

Thoughts of the constant endeavor, 

The failure and end of it all, 
So that I couldn't help thinking 

There was nothing to drink but the gall. 

And as I finished my papers 
And carefully laid them away, 

This was the query I pondered, 
"With this as the end does it pay?" 



122 DOES IT PAY? 

What does it pay to keep trying 
When so little of good we attain? 

What does it pay to keep striving 
When striving seems often so vain? 

Yet on the morrow as ever 
I took us my burden again, 

Praying the Lord for the courage 
And leaving the rest with Him then. 

Hoping that sometime in future 
The seeds I have planted in youth 

Will in the minds of these children 
Then grow into blossoms of truth. 



13 



DEDICATION ODE 123 



DEDICATION ODE. 
Read at Dedication of new Building at I. S. D. June, 1906 

Tn time's eternal onward sweep 
That lifts the veil from wrong, 

To souls long dead thru love's neglect 
Shone hope delayed so long. 

The messengers of Love and Light, 

God's benediction brought 
And lo, thruout the wakening world 

A miracle was wrought. 

As far adown the flight of years 
Christ's "ephphatha" was heard 

And men were turned to deeds of love 
By His inspiring word. 

And tho Lucretius in his rhyme 

Declared the deaf to be 
Beyond the power of wisdom's art 

Or skill of men to free, 



124 DEDICATION ODE 

In minds unreached by sound, thru eyes 
The light of knowledge broke, 

And thoughts long hid for want of tongue 
Now thru the fingers spoke. 

And they to whom the world denied 

In life an equal share, 
And doomed because of Nature's wrong 

The cross of scorn to bear 

Were freed; and education took 

Away the blighting ban. 
Restored them to the realm of life 

And brotherhood of man. 

Now to this cause we dedicate 
The walls that round us rise, 

A pledge of that humanity 
That in their purpose lies. 



WHICH VALEXTIXEf 125 



WHICH VALENTINE? 

Two little girls in school I know, 

And see them every day; 
I see them as they work in school 

And see them at their play. 

"Old Cross-patch" one of them is called, 

(I think you can guess why). 
The other, "Sunshine," (and you know 

Her just as well as I). 

When Cross-patch comes to school each day, 

She wears a dreadful frown; 
Seems like a cloud has settled there, 

Whenever she sits down. 

But Sunshine, she comes laughing in. 

And fills the room with glee; 
Seems like the world is changed to gold 

Whenever her I see. 



126 WHICH VALENTINE? 

And Cross-patch will not let you touch 

Her doll or things at play; 
She's selfish and she makes a fuss 

Unless things are her way. 

But Sunshine smiles and says, 
"Oh, come and play here too; 

It's lot more fun when I can share 
My things with some of you." 

And so each day I stand and watch 
These two young friends of mine; 

Now which one do you think I'd choose 
To be my valentine? 



yOT FOR kiELF BUT OTHERS 127 



NOT FOR SELF BUT OTHERS. 
/. S. D. Class Poem 1907 

Now we leave our school behind us, 
Now the parting of the ways; 

Closed the books so long beside us, 
Torn away the props and stays. 

Wide the world, but God has given us 
Each his own particular sphere, — 

We have work that he assigned us 
Even tho we can not hear. 

Life is always what we make it. 

Full of joy or full of tears, 
And to measure its completeness 

Count the deeds and not the years. 

I^et us then go forth with courage 
Seeking what our hands may do, 
Loyal to the school that made us, 
14 Faithful, firm and ever true. 



128 ^OT FOR ^ELF BUT OTHERS 

Let US strive to make time useful 
As we journey on thru life, 

Let us seek the good and noble, 
Turn away from petty strife; 

Let us find our greatest pleasure 
In the deeds of faith and love, 

Living not for self but others, 
Trusting in the Lord above. 



THE SCHOOL GIRL'S COMPLAINT 129 



THE SCHOOL GIRL'S COMPLAINT. 



I don't see why that I should have 
To study, work and go to school, 

When grown-ups do just as they please 
And never have to mind the rule. 



The morning brings some task to do 
And then it's hurry to prepare 

For school, and oh! the troubles and 
The tasks I know await me there! 



The teacher, she puts on the board 
The hardest things for us to do, 

And then she sits and watches us 
The while we toil and struggle thru 



And when we get the answer wrong, 
She frowns and scolds us awful hard 

And wonders why we are so slow. 
Then marks us low upon our card. 



13a 7'i?^ SCHOOL GIRL'S COMPLAINT 

I guess she has forgotten when 
She was a girl and went to school, 

Or she would understand and be 
Less cross when we forget the rule. 

I'll be so glad when I grow up; 

Then I'll be free to go and do 
Just as I please — and maybe then 

I'll try and be a teacher too. 



THE PATH OF DUTY 131 



THE PATH OF DUTY. 

When Mary the best of my pupils 

Went wrong and coumpelled me to blame 

Where always I'd loved, how I hated 
To scold her and put her to shame. 

All day she'd been cross and unruly 
Till when it was too much to bear, 

I called her right up to my table 
And made her stand up on a chair. 

I kept her in school In tne evening 
And told her how naughty she'd been; 

She sobbed while she said she was sorry 
And never would do it again. 

How little we reckon of sorrow 
In hearts of the tender in years! 

How little we know till we see it 
O'erflowing in torrents of tears ! 

How often the heart of the teacher 

Is longing affection to show, 
When duty as often compels her 
15 To sternly a chiding bestow. 



132 SCHOOL ROOM PROBLEMS 



SCHOOL ROOM PROBLEMS. 



I often wonder why, one day, a child with 

ease will learn, 
And on the very next, the simplest thing can 

not discern. 
And why one day the self-same child will be 

so awful nice 
And on the next will vex my soul with 

every mean device. 



And why when I have spent an hour to 

patiently explain 
The "how" and "why" of this and that and 

made it very plain, 
Then ask the pupils to produce a brief of 

what they've seen, 
A boy gets up and says to me, "What does 

this subject mean?" 
And when I show them where to put the 

nouns and place adverbs, 



SCHOOL ROOM PROBLEMS 133 

And tell them that the adjectives can't 

modify the verbs, 
And then they go and mix them up without a 

thought or care, 
I feel like I will have to drop and give up in 

despair. 



134 A/M HIGH 



AIM HIGH. 

/. S. D. Class Motto, 1908 

Starting out upon life's highway, 
Leaving school and help behind, 

Whither will its windings lead us? 
What of blessings shall we find? 

Will it give us ought of triumph? 

Will it lead to wealth or fame? 
All depends upon our effort 

And the heights for which we aim. 

We may never reach the summit 
Of the mountain's rugged peak; 

We may never quite accomplish 
All the purpose that we seek; 

But unless our eyes be lifted 
As we struggle toward the skies 

And our aim be high above us 
Can we ever hope to rise? 



AIM HIGH 135 

May our lives be free from doing 

Anything to bring us shame; 
Let us work and do our duty 

That there nought will be to blame. 

Ours the aim to reach the highest, 
Ne'er content save with the best, 

Strive that when our work is over 
It will stand the Master's test. 



136 ANAXAGORAS 



ANAXAGORAS. 

Wise Anaxagoras (and ever may his tribe 

increase) 
Once kept a school at Athens for the boys 

of ancient Greece. 
And how to keep them dutiful, he knew 

the wisest way, 
For when they'd all been good, he'd give 

then, a holiday. 



His lectures on philosophy, as fairy tales 

disguised, 
And talks on deep astronomy, they heard 

with open eyes; 
But they were always ready when he'd stop 

and, smiling say, 
"Come, boys, now put your books aside and 

take a holiday." 



ANAXAG0RA8 137 

For good old Anaxagoras, he well remem- 
bered when, 

Back in the days of long ago, like them, a 
boy he'd been. 

So, when their tasks were heavy and their 
eyes would turn away, 

He'd smile a knowing smile and give the 
boys a holiday. 

Like othfers, Anaxagoras at last grew old 

and died, 
And friends came at the end to see, and 

gathered at his sMe. 
They asked what h^ nors at his funeral he'd 

have them pay; 
Said Anaxagoras, "Just give the boys a 

holiday." 



FEB Z 1903 



